The Underpinning of My Existence: International Women’s Day and Building Each Other Up.

March 8, 2021

As with my previous articles, this one is Raw, Personal, and reflects my own lived truth. Before you start reading, let me first acknowledge my personal history being raised in the Treaty 7 lands in Alberta, pursuing education in the lands of the Algonquin, and today, living in the territories of the Coast Salish. I am privileged to live and learn from these nations and grateful for their impact on me. Let me further acknowledge that my parents were both raised on the traditional lands of the Masa’i, Kikuyu, Kalenji and Mijikenda peoples. Colonialsm impacts much of my history – starting with the British Raj in India, to East Africa and then Canada.

In memory of my mother, Hamida (Nimet) Nanji.

Now, if I may, on this International Women’s Day tell you the first of two stories that anchored my childhood. Really the underpinning if my existence.

First: a tribute to the strongest woman I have ever known and a story of her Global experience in honour of International Women’s Day. My first best friend. My mom.

It was the mid to late 1960’s. I can’t remember the year from her stories, and historical documentation is a bit harder to come by. My mom, the youngest member of the Jonta (now Zonta) Club of Kenya, was deeply entrenched in her passion- the betterment of women in her country of birth. She was in her late 20’s. Unmarried. When she wasn’t working at her father’s business, helping raise her 7 younger siblings or at her day job, teaching special needs children, she was an active volunteer, climbed Mt Kilimanjaro for fun, mentored young women in the community, tutored underprivileged kids. She was “Ms. Hamida”. Patient, elegant, stylish – a gentle artist and passionate advocate at heart.

Amongst the club’s other members were Margaret Kenyatta, the president’s wife, the influential wives of businessmen. She didn’t quite fit in – the eldest daughter of an immigrant Indian man and a second generation Kenyan born Indian woman.  They went to events, marched at the U.N. International Congress for Women, to free Mandela, and even spent time with Winnie Mandela, absorbing inspiration. Hamida was thrilled beyond belief when that work led her to be chosen as a delegate to the United Nations Status of Women’s Committee meeting in Madagascar. Representing Kenya. Her! I know, from her stories that she agonized over her speech, attempted to learn rudimentary French, and packed and unpacked – she wanted to ensure that she would be taken seriously.

At the meetings, women of every age and colour represented their countries and updated on the work of their countries. My mom though, was still the youngest there. In those days she made deep friendships and learned the ways of the world that fueled her throughout her life. It led to her work with the American Embassy in Nairobi, her international seva with the Ismaili community, her role at the United Nations Refugee commission as Senior Patriatition Official (during the Asian Expulsion in Uganda at the busy Kenyan border crossings), her long time friendship with Kulsoom Pirbhai, wife of Sir Eboo Pirbhai, deep friendship with Margaret Kenyatta and immigration to Canada.  It fostered her interest in politics, her commitment to refugee settlement and her true desire to build every community she interacted with.

Mom used to tell a story of one night at dinner, when the women were in their own in Tananarive. Unable to order, mom drew pictures of chickens, ducks, goats and cows to help her new friends order food. The restaurant staff had giggled endlessly, asked for their autographs and the food had been wonderful. This is how women can come together and form community. Without language in common, without a shared history, simply lifting each other up, playing real life Pictionary to get each other fed and later, over years, writing and supporting each other. No competition. Pure collaboration.

I’ve uploaded on Instagram some photos to show the work the women did. With mom long gone, so are the intimate stories of these days. Her lovely, animated narratives of how Ms UK had told a funny story about …. Something…. Or how Ms Austria and Ms Swaziland had collaborated to discuss…. Something. I loved those stories – through them, I learned the value of giving, supporting and unfailing effort. I wish that little Zafira had taken notes or recorded her mom. What always struck me though, and stayed with me is that each of these women had a lived truth. And they came together to find ways to lift up the women of the world. They sacrificed throughout their lives to give and give- and lay the foundation of the women we are able to be today. Many of them didn’t have the right to vote, own property or travel without male companions in their countries of origin. Yet they were chosen as voices to represent the women of their age and time. They all believed that they COULD make a difference. My mom always said she was privileged to be the youngest, and was eternally grateful for collective wisdom, sharing and learning. Many stayed in touch throughout my mom’s life.

The moral of this story? Every one has a voice that matters. No matter who you are, you can make a difference. -You-, and only you can lift up the collective voice with your experience.

I hope that many of you are wearing purple today, the colour of #IWD, the colour of #royalty. I hope that you #ChooseToChallenge what holds you back and to help others in their quest for #FeministRecovery.

with #utmostgratitude for your gift of time

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